


Looking Glass

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/F, Introspection, slight f/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:34:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She and Professor Tanya Reed Smith are the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jajacactusflower](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jajacactusflower).



> Inspired by the tumblr prompt from jajacactusflower: "Can you write something about Stella and Reed? With that rumour going around I just want more... *wink*"

She notices first when she dismounts the motorcycle, lifts her leg clearly over but swings it delicately to the ground with precision. When she hears her talk, sees the way she handles her job, handles the people-she is sure. She flips her hair and gazes at the men with a soft smirk, knowing the effect. The subtlety that Stella knows she lacks at times is present in the Doctor’s wardrobe, and in her speech. Beneath the subtleties lay the same thoughts and motivations.

She and Professor Tanya Reed Smith are the same.

She stares through a window, when she steps into Reed’s shoes, which feel almost like her own albeit flat. They are the same size and of the same quality. The insoles feel comfortable, but not cushiony- there was no time for cushions in their work and even footwear must oblige, even in the metaphorical sense of the imagination. When Stella steps into the shoes of Doctor Reed, looks through the window of her life, she sees a parallel universe; the road not taken.

She soon realizes that it isn’t a window at all, but a mirror.  It is a gift she knows the Doctor has unwrapped fondly, like a gold-plated looking glass into wonderland. When she hears about her husband and the children she sees herself reflected. The facial lines are different but she can almost reach out and touch the tangibility of this life she sees as if it were her own. What she could have had. What she could have been. She does not use the words _should,_  because Stella is not one to lie to herself. She does not regret her choices. But to see a different path, a different choice, is a true gift.

Stella knows her universe. In the cosmos, she reflects the schism from refusing Burns when he offered to leave his wife, but accepting his invitation into bed. It is a World that intrigues the Doctor, something that if she squinted terribly, she could see for herself.

Stella is sure of the Doctor’s curiosity when in their late-night discussions, she feels Reed slip into her own stiletto high heels and stare back through the looking glass.

The Doctor’s desires are similar to her own. She noticed from their first conversation, from the first subtle smirk and hot breath on her neck.

It’s not long before Stella places a chaste, peck on her lips. When she feels Reed’s smile it unleashes the hunger. The desire to see. The desire to feel. The need to be seen. She needs to feed herself. Quench her thirst in the body of an equal. The Reed unbuttons Stella’s shirt with only the precision that medical school could give,  and runs her hands over her sensitive breasts. Her hands tangle in thick-blonde hair that she could never see on herself but looks and feels so right on this woman. Feels so right in his world that she’s now gained full access to. They stumble back, and fall on the firm bed, covered in the layers of a duvet. She feels the smooth skin as Stella straddles her and presses firm hands on her back, moaning as she touches her sex.

Stella presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, wanting to taste the wine they finished together. Merlo, delicious on the tiniest of her taste buds. She wants to taste more. The desire present in the widened pupils of Doctor Tanya Reed Smith is her own. It is present in the flush on her cheeks and chest in the loll of her head as a hand reaches up her skirt and her black lace panties are pushed aside.

Their shoes slip off their feet and neither is peering through a looking glass- trying to see the other side and its grass. She touches the tangibility of her life, of her Universe, in rough strokes and the slide of nails against skin.

The looking glass has shattered, revealing two bodies moving evenly together. The same world.

Alternate but Parallel Universes, now fused as one in hot, wet, wanton kisses and cries of release


End file.
